The Delivery Driver Chronicles: Part 1

I am a delivery boy. You are the customer.

This is what is expected of me by my employers:
1) Show up to work on time.
2) Wear a company t-shirt.
3) Answer phones politely and try to up-sell.
4) Do not fight anyone.
5) Make sure you have everything that is on the receipt inside the bag before leaving.
6) Drive to the destination and back in the quickest, and safest route possible,
7) Wash dishes/clean lobby.
8) Do not cuss in front of any customer.

This is difficult for some people to oblige by. I admit the job is easy, but it is also monotonous. The people who follow the rules are the ones who make the most money because they know exactly what they’re doing. You can make some decent money.

This is what is expected of me by you, the customer:
1) Don’t put my dick in your food.
2) Deliver the food as soon as you hang up the phone and dick-free.

I will paint a scenario for you: You are a delivery driver. I call you and make an order. I am infamous for poorly tipping delivery drivers, even if the delivery is delivered within 30 minutes. You can recall delivering to me 3 times in the past two weeks where I have tipped you close to nothing. Try and not put your dick in my sandwich. I dare you.

This is what I expect from my employers:
1) Provide all of the products necessary to do my job.
2) Have the full amount of paycheck ready for me every other Friday.

Pretty clear cut.

This is what I expect of customers:
1) Be polite.
2) A reasonable tip.

You should always tip your driver at least a gallon of gas. Unleaded is a safe bet. Also, when I am asking you to repeat something, it is because I am making sure that your fat, unappreciative ass will get what it desires. Please do not speak to me as if I were retarded.

Cash rules everything around me, cream.

Today at work, a group of four girls came into the store. They were loud and obnoxious, which easily gave away the fact that they are, in fact, in high school. They used our bathrooms and continued to talk to my coworkers and boss. Finally, my buddy Kevin asked them how old they were. They hesitated at first, but then told us they were 21. I instantly shut down this bullshit. They acted offended, but then they admitted they were 17. As they were leaving, I reminded them to "enjoy high school, because it is a long, slow, and painful decline from there."

My coworkers said they would still sleep with them.

What I do at 6am for 300, please.

I've coined a new term: "Wise Man." Definition: While at your computer desk watching porn, you sit on the floor because your headphones are too short. You can sit Indian style or do what I do and crouch down like a catcher. When you are done punishing yourself, your attempt to stand up and walk will make you look like a wise man.

Just the other night, while delivering, I came to a kid's apartment and when I knocked on the door, a sudden clatter came amongst the room. All I could hear was the cheers of a small group of people. As the door burst open, their eyes lit up and their teeth came out from hiding. I was like mother fucking Santa Claus to these drunken buffoons.
I looked at one of the people occupying the apartment and as we made eye contact, he screamed, "The sandwich guy is here!" with such an uplifting tone. They tipped for shit, but I wish everyone was that excited to see me.

$uP3rb0wL

Thanks to everyone who came to our superbowl party. Good times were had by all. It sucks that the Cardinals lost, but it was still a good game. I was returning the keg tap to the store we rented it from and one of the employees that works there was talking to his coworker about "a new ground angle that shows that Holmes never touched the ground with one of his feet." I told him, "Don't be that fan, dude. It was a good game and they're not going to do anything to change the outcome now." He then returned to the back because I'm sure he was about to say things that could have gotten him fired.

Fuck the Steelers.